


blenders + birthday cake

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Broken Jaw, Desi Nguyen - Freeform, Found Family, Gen, George Eads Appreciation Week, Hurt Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Hurt/Comfort, Jack Dalton Lives (MacGyver TV 2016), Post 5x05, Protective Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis - Freeform, Wilt Bozer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Jack's first birthday back home with his family after the Kovac mission.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 41





	blenders + birthday cake

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's birthday is March 1st 1975. Yes, I know there is a glimpse of a driver's license in 1x03 that gives Jack a birthday in February 1967, but that's wrong. A prop mistake, that we weren't even supposed to notice. They gave us a whole episode about Jack's high school reunion, Class of '93. the math works if we use my date. He's turning 46 this year. 
> 
> For context: in this story, the Kovac mission lasted just under two years. The events of 5x05 did happen. And then, Jack was rescued and returned home to his family a few weeks before the start of this story
> 
> Written for GEAW Day Two: Birthdays

Late afternoon sun pierces through the blackout curtains, leaving the room in a hazy, dream-like glow.  Jack grunts, guided into the bedroom by Mac's steady hand against his shoulder. Shielding his eyes from the speckled sunbeams and leaning into Mac's touch.  


“I know, I know,” Mac mumbles, responding to the years' old argument. “I didn’t listen to you about which brand to buy. You were right and I was cheap. They don’t stand up to the LA sunshine. I’ll listen to your infinite wisdom next time.”

Jack gives a small shrug.

“I can’t just get rid of them,” Mac complains, falling into a familiar rhythm, as though they were never parted. “I’m not going to clutter a landfill. Once I figure out a use for them, I’ll get some new, Jack Dalton approved, blackout curtains. You'll never have to complain about staying in my room again. Here, sit down a second.” Mac eases him down, settling him on the edge of the bed and rolling his eyes at Jack’s pointed look.

“I know it’s been years, but they do the job well enough,” Mac eyes his partner for a moment. “You still dizzy?”

Jack wobbles his hand in the air. 

“I’ll get you lying flat in a minute. Are you going to pass out on me?” Mac takes a step back, hand remaining on Jack’s shoulder, guarding, making sure he isn’t going to start swaying or tumble off the bed. Jack gives a firm shake of his head, then grips the edge of the bed, breathing heavily.

“Jack?”

Eyes closed, he waves Mac away, giving him a small shove towards the dresser. 

Rummaging through the drawer that belongs to Jack, Mac keeps his head turned to watch his partner. Prepared to dive across the room should Jack start looking weak, nauseated, or pale… weaker, more nauseated, or increasingly pale. He returns with a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt with a wide-stretched neckline. 

Jack mutters through clenched teeth. 

“I’ll hang a blanket over the windows too. It’ll be dark enough to sleep,” Mac promises, dropping the pants on the bed. When Jack sighs he continues, “If you can’t sleep, I’ll stop by your place and borrow your curtains while you’re staying here.”

The noise Jack makes is a cross between a whine and Mac’s name.

“I can’t let you go home like this. You can’t be alone,” Mac whispers. “And I need you close.”  Mac shudders. His mind replaying the horrific crack and Jack’s scream. The sound causes bile to rise in his throat, trapped in a loop until Jack reaches out for him. Releases him from the cascading memories. The fear that he got Jack back only to lose him again. 

Jack is alive. His fingers warm on Mac’s cool, clammy skin. Brow furrowed in concern.  


“I’m fine,” Mac breathes, looking down at his partner, a promise to himself. To Jack. “I’m fine and you’ll be okay.”  Shaking himself free he asks, “you want some help?”

Pausing, Jack considers the offer. 

They’ve seen each other at their absolute worst. Held each other through fevers and screams and things that no human being should ever have to endure. Helped each other dress after medical procedures, and peeled away blood sodden clothes. Grieved and hoped. It easier,  revealing vulnerability, when the pain robs coherency. More difficulty in the quiet of existence. 

“Let me help,” Mac rephrases, ignoring the stinging sensation that Jack's hesitation causes. Giving permission to accept the help freely offered. That despite the years of separation, their history stands. Jack can show his weakness, reveal vulnerability and trust Mac with it.  


With a quiet breath, Jack nods. 

Grasping the neck of Jack’s t-shirt, Mac pulls it wide. “Okay, nice and slow,” Mac gives a three count and eases the shirt over Jack’s head. 

Jack gasps, short panting breaths of pain, but looks up quickly into Mac’s concerned eye and gives a thumbs up.

Mac tosses aside the bloody t-shirt and blinks. Staring at the flecks of blood streaked across Jack’s neck and chest, missed during the cleanup at medical. He reaches out, fingers hovering just over Jack’s chest. 

Jack catches Mac’s forearm, squeezing gently. He’s alive. They’re safe. 

“Yeah,” Mac breathes. “You okay for a second? I’m gonna just grab…” his voice trails off as he heads into the bathroom, on trembling legs. 

After turning on the water, both hands slam against the vanity, gripping tightly. His head hangs low as he draws a breath into his tight chest. The grief of losing Jack, mere months ago, a raw, still bloodied ache in his chest that wakes him in the night and leaves him shivering. Finding him, feels like a dream and Mac's terrified he'll wake up on the floor of the lavatory on the jet, with his only comfort his own arms wrapped around himself.  


He splashes his face. Haunted eyes stare back from his reflection in the mirror. Mac swallows hard, pushing a hand roughly through his hair. Shoving aside the fear that tries stealing his breath, and grabs a washcloth and towel. 

Jack watches expectantly when Mac returns from the bathroom. He ignores Jack’s worried eyes and sits on the edge of the bed beside him. Placing one hand on Jack’s shoulder, Mac leans forward, sweeping the warm washcloth against Jack’s chest. Jack shudders and sighs, leaning into Mac’s gentle touch. His head lowers, resting on Mac’s shoulder. Content. Safe. 

With rhythmic strokes, Mac wipes away the dried spatter of blood. Jack’s chest hitches under his hand. Craning his neck, Mac can just make out the tracks of tears on Jack’s cheeks.

“Hurts.” the word soft, mumbled. Slightly slurred. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jack pats his knee.  _ Not your fault, hoss. _

“Should have been me.”

“No.” Jack growls. 

“If I had-”

“No.” The word is clear. Angry. Jack sits up straight, pulling his knee up onto the bed and turning to look at Mac. Catching Mac’s chin in his hand, pulling him closer so Mac is making eye contact. 

“No.” he enunciates again, eyes flashing with hundreds of words and arguments and ranting concerns that he can’t voice. But his message is clear. “Mac.”

“Hey, okay, okay, stop before you hurt yourself,” Mac’s hand rests against Jack’s shoulder. 

Releasing Mac’s chin and Jack pokes his chest lightly. 

“I hear you, big guy.”

Jack pokes him again.

“And… I’ll try to believe it.”

Jack nods and winces. Eyes closing against the onslaught of pain. He brings his hands up, as though wanting to touch and soothe, but stalls. Hands balling into fists in front of his face, but not touching. It hurts too much to touch. 

“Let’s get some more pain meds in you before you sleep.” 

Jack’s lip curls up in disgust.

The white paper bag from the pharmacy rustles as Mac pulls out the medication, squinting in the dim light to read the directions on the label.

Grunting, Jack rolls his eyes. 

“Just want to make sure I heard them right.”

Jack answers with a huff.

“They want you to ask questions, Jack. They want to know that you aren’t going to get home and not know what to do,” Mac pulls out the oral syringe and inserts the plastic tip into the top of the bottle, drawing up the medication. 

“Do you want to…” Mac holds out the syringe.

Jack closes his eyes, lips parted telling Mac clearly that no, he does not want to give himself the med and Mac should just hurry up and do it.

Leaning forward, Mac gets another up close look at the hardware in Jack’s mouth, holding the pieces of his broken jaw in place. 

_ Mac didn’t hear them coming, but spins on his heel with Jack’s warning shout. Ducking. Hands coming up to protect his head. A flurry of motion, Jack throws himself between Mac’s body and his assailant.  _

_ A primal scream erupts from deep within Jack’s chest - Mac’s hair stands on end at the sound, heart stopping - as the folding chair connects with Jack’s face.  _

_ A crack of metal against flesh and bone that Mac knows will fill every moment of silence in his brain. _

_ Blood spurts from Jack’s nose.  _

_ Jack catches the metal, shoving back hard with a roaring bellow. Mac’s attacker stumbles, tumbling down the stairs with a crash. _

_ The air, thick. The moment frozen in shocked silence. Until the pause is snapped as Jack collapses. His fist pounds the floor.  _

_ Freed from the hush, Mac scrambles across the floor. _

_ Sparing half a glance at the still form at the bottom of the stairs, only long enough to confirm the man won’t be getting up again, Mac drops next to Jack’s crumpled body.  _

_ Hands gripping his hair. Forearms and elbows shield his face from view as Jack writhes against the floor in agony. _

_ Shallow, haunting wails that echo in the concrete stairwell.  _

_ “Jack, Jack, Jack.” Mac’s hands shake, eyes wide with horror at the noises spilling from his friend. “Please, Jack, let me see, let me- let me…” _

_ Jack moans, curling further in on himself, flinches when Mac’s hand lands on his shoulder.  _

_ “I’m sorry. Jack, please. I have to-” _

_ “Can’t.” The word is thick, garbled. One hand lowers from his hair, latching onto Mac’s shoulder and squeezing hard. Tears stream from Jack’s eyes mixing with the blood that bubbles from his nose and mouth.  _

_ “We need an emergency medical evac. Now.” Mac orders into the comms. Ignoring the concerned cries from the War Room that follow his statement, his attention on Jack.  _

_ “Mac…” Jack breathes, coughing as blood fills his mouth. Gagging as it runs down his throat. Keening with pain.  _

_ “Oh god,” Mac murmurs, watching in horror as Jack’s mouth moves asymmetrically. “Matty, I think his jaw is broken.”  _

_ Mac pulls Jack upright only enough to lean him forward so the blood drains into a puddle on the floor. Mac’s arm across his chest, the only thing that keeps Jack from collapsing onto the ground again.  _

_ “I’ve got you, Jack,” Mac whispers into his ear as Jack shakes apart in his arms. Shoulder digging into his chest. Mac rocks him gently. “I got you, buddy.”  _

_ The words as much for himself as they are for Jack.  _

“Okay,” Mac takes a deep breath, freeing himself from his memories, trying to steady his hands that haven’t stopped shaking. He’s disarmed bombs in war zones with seconds left on the timer. He can do this. Except it’s Jack. He doesn’t want to mess this up. Doesn’t want to hurt him… hurt him more than he already is. What if Mac bumps the wires, or his jaw? What if he gives the swish of meds too quickly and Jack chokes? Chokes and starts vomiting and Mac can’t clip the wires fast enough for him to open his mouth. Jack aspirates. Gets pneumonia. Dies. 

Opening his eyes, seeing Mac’s spiraling thoughts written on his face, Jack’s expression softens. Then he winks at Mac, and closes his eyes tight again. Not wanting to watch anything - not even the partner he trusts - draw closer to his mouth.

“Here we go,” Mac says. Sliding the small syringe into the pocket of Jack’s bruised cheek. Slow, pulsing motion of his thumb against the plunger, the medication eking out drip by drip until he sees Jack’s puzzled eyes on him. 

Reading Mac’s thoughts, his concerns, Jack gestures with his thumb and forefinger, indicating the tiny amount of medication that’s in the syringe to make up the dose, gives a small shake of his head and shrugs, assuring Mac as best he can without words, he’s not going to choke on it. He accepts a glass of water to wash down the rest, smiling indulgently when Mac tells him “small sips.”

“Let’s get you squared away so you can rest,” Mac says, packing up the medication and placing it on the nightstand, next to the wire cutters.

Stretching out the neck of the shirt so it will fit over Jack’s head without brushing against his swollen jaw, Jack gives a small yelp when he hears the fabric and stitching pop. He rubs his fingers across the shirt in sympathy. 

Mac eases the material over Jack’s head, feeding Jack’s arms through the sleeves and tugging it into place, a well-practiced motion. It’s probably not the medication kicking in quite yet, that makes Jack sway when he stands, holding tight to Mac as he strips off his skinny jeans and steps into pajamas. 

Folding down the blankets, Jack sighs as he slips between the sheets. Then grunts, catching Mac’s attention. 

The pen scratches against the notebook Jack was given to help him communicate. He holds the message out to Mac. 

_ Stay _

A request or command, Mac doesn’t know, but he nods. Needing to be close. Moving to the other side of the bed, he slides under the covers. 

Tears leak from Jack’s eyes, and Mac curls onto his side, brushing soothing strokes across Jack’s elbow. 

_ Jack remains positioned upright throughout their evac, as blood continues pouring from his mouth and nose. Flinches with each noise and every movement until Mac’s hand rests on the back of his neck, maintaining contact and comfort. Jack’s skin is clammy. His pulse thrumming under Mac’s touch. Jack clutches his hand like a lifeline. _

_ In medical, Jack recoils at the hands coming closer, so overwhelmed by pain, his brain taunts him. Tells him every touch brings agony. _

_ Except for Mac’s.  _

_ He tugs at Mac, pulling him onto the gurney. Mac hops up without a second thought, settling behind him, because it’s what Jack needs.  _

_ Sitting back to front, he can feel Jack’s heart hammering against his chest.  _

_ And Mac hesitates now. Used to his partner being sure and superhuman, that seeing him like this gives Mac pause. Uncertainty in how to proceed with a Jack that shivers in his arms.  _

_ There are no clear tasks for Mac’s brain to puzzle, no bombs to disarm, nothing to build that will protect. For all of his knowledge and skills and experience, he doesn’t have an answer, no science to hack.  _

_ But... _

_ He’s not without recourse.  _

_ Jack’s strength and protection aren't just fueled by fire and rage, but tempered by warmth and love.  _

_ Jack, in the way that Riley hacks computers and Mac hacks everything else, hacks people.  _ _ Knows how to soothe with hands and words. And Mac has been on the receiving end of that for years.  _ _ Mac has always been good at observational learning.  _

_ Wrapping his arms around Jack’s torso, Mac leans in close.  _

_ “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, hoss,” Mac murmurs. The words, while familiar, feel foreign on his tongue. Jack stutters under his touch and Mac thinks, for a moment that he made a mistake. Because Jack is nicknames and words of affirmation, careful touches that calm pain and allay fear. And that is not Mac. He’s about to clamp his mouth shut and pull away, when Jack stills under his touch. The fight draining from him. Frantic breaths slow. Racing heart, thudding against Mac’s chest, calms.  _

_ Reese shakes her head, stalling Mac’s movements when he tries to loosen his grip on Jack. Move out of her way and allow her to get close to examine his partner. He sees a flash of emotion before it's hidden behind a mask, and realizes this is the first time Jack's been on her cot since his return. That she, like the rest of them grieved, and never expected to watch these partners interact again.  
_

_ “Jack?” Reese holds up the blood pressure cuff when he makes eye contact. “I’m not going to touch, but can Mac?” _

_ And Jack gives the barest nod of consent.  _

_ Stunned by the implicit trust, Mac reaches out for the sleeve. _

_ Trembling, Jack holds out his arm.  _

_ Mac wraps the cuff around his bicep. _

_ “Easy, big guy, it’s okay. They’re giving you a shot of the good stuff. If anyone ever deserved it, you do,” Mac strokes Jack’s shoulder as the cuff inflates. Soothing him as fresh tears streak his face.  _

_ He jumps as the velcro is released.  _

_ “Jack?” Reese, her mask has a crack in it now, has a thermometer in her hands, trading it for the bp cuff. “Under your arm. Okay?” She instructs when Jack’s eyes widen. “We’re not going anywhere near your mouth right now. Mac is going to just slide it into your armpit.”  _

_ “Come on, lift your arm up a little bit, cowboy.” The word tumbles awkwardly out of Mac’s mouth.  _

_ Jack’s breath hitches, craning his neck enough to catch a glimpse of Mac. _

_ “Don’t look at me like that, I know that was awkward.”  _

_ Jack huffs and Mac thinks it might sound like a laugh. Hopes it is. A glimmer of normal in a world where he feels like he’s hanging upside down.  _

_ Sliding his hand under Jack’s shirt, Mac positions the probe under his arm, pressing it down snugly to his side. Then he thinks again of what Jack might do, and wraps him in a hug.  _

_ “To help hold it in place,” Mac lies and Jack repeats his soft, affectionate huff. _

_ Jack's warm, comfortable weight in his arms, Mac’s breathing deepens, matching Jack’s. Stroking the hair that Jack has been wearing longer since he got home.  _

_ And then, the gentle reprieve shatters. Never meant to last. _

_ Jack grips Mac’s hand so tight he thinks the bones creak under the pressure when the doctor asks Jack to bite down, examining his jaw.  _

_ His breath hitches, as the doctor palpates the underside of Jack’s chin, bone and soft tissue, and across his neck. Whimpers as he holds his mouth open. Probing under his tongue, and along his gums. Examining his teeth.  _

_ Mac lets go of his hand only long enough for panoramic x-rays and a CT scan. Promising he'll be back. Stumbling on legs like jelly, out of the room collapsing against the wall.  _

_ Mac jumps when he hears his name. Bozer’s appraising gaze runs over him. _

_ “He’s- they’re doing x-rays.”  _

_ “How… is he?”  _

_ Mac swallows. “Hurting.” _

_ “Are you okay?” How many times has he asked this over the last several months? Years?  
_

_ “Fine, Boze.” He sounds exhausted. _

_ Bozer raises an eyebrow and Mac looks down. _

_ “Not my blood.”  _

_ “Come on, you’ve got five minutes. I think Jack will feel better if he’s not worried that you’re covered in blood. Even if it’s not yours.” _

_ Bozer flips the lock in the public bathroom. Mac stands in front of the sink, his body heavy.  _

_ “I grabbed it from your locker,” Bozer holds out a Dallas Stars hockey sweatshirt that’s a size too big.  _

_ Mac yanks his shirt over his head. Goosebumps erupt across his bare skin and he shivers. He turns on the water. Scalding his hands and he picks at his cuticles, feeling Bozer’s eyes on him. _

_ The foamy soap turns pinks as Mac scrubs his forearms, and takes a paper towel to the streak on his neck.  _

_ “See, not mine,” Mac says, turning back and facing Bozer, arms held out for inspection before accepting the sweatshirt. Pulling it over his head, shivering again. Folding in on himself and rubbing his upper arms briskly.  _

_ The shivers don’t stop until he’s back with Jack.  _

_ The bleeding slowed and finally stopped. Pain managed with a shot of the good stuff. Jack rests on the medical cot, head of the bed raised. Mac’s hand entwined in his as the doctor confirms that his jaw is broken.  _

_ Mac’s already pale face blanches hearing the diagnosis. Guilt flooding him. It’s his fault. Jack was protecting him.  _

_ Jack grips his hand tight as he listens to the treatment plan. Eyes shining with pain. Fear. Overwhelming emotions.  _

_ "Don’t know if… a good idea,” Jack groans, trying not to move his jaw, as Mac shushes him, telling him to hold still and relax. “All that... wire... in m’ mouth.” _

_ “They have to do something, Jack. It’s the best option.” _

_ “You just wanna... steal it. Never could… keep hands… off my stuff.” The smile Jack flashes is crooked, and painful. Causes Mac visceral pain to see. His guts twisting and nausea rising. _

_ “I’m sorry,” Mac murmurs, the small exam cubicle quiet again as the medical team leaves, gathering supplies and preparing for the procedure. _

_ “Not your fault,” Jack slurs. Pink tinged saliva drools from the corner of his mouth.  _

_ “I just got you back.” _

_ “Still have me.” _

_ “Could have lost you,” Mac shakes his head. _

_ “No.” _

_ “You shouldn’t have done that. This should be me-” _

_ “No.” Jack growls. “Woulda broke your head. Snapped your neck. No.” Jack’s breath comes in short panting gasps, eyes widening in horror at the thought. “No.” He reaches up, cradling the back of Mac’s head and pulling it to his chest. Smoothing his hand through Mac’s hair, scritching across his scalp. Both hands pressing hard as if to reassure himself that Mac’s skull remains intact. “No. No. No.”  _

“I got you, Jack,” Mac murmurs. Watching the steady rise and fall of Jack’s chest, punctuated with soft hiccupping snuffles. “I still say, you shouldn’t have done that. 

Twisting in his sleep, Jack grimaces, teeth bared, as though in disagreement with Mac’s words. 

"We'll never agree on that, huh?"

Mac breathes a soft sigh of relief when Jack settles again without waking. He deserves a reprieve, and Mac lays here a while longer, making sure that Jack is deep within slumber before he moves. 

“You’re right. Every day is precious. Not going to take that for granted again. Don’t know why I have to keep learning that lesson at your expense.”

Eases himself out of the darkened bedroom, pausing at the door for a moment, making sure he didn’t disturb Jack, before slipping into the hallway. 

Riley, Bozer, and Desi look up as he makes his way into the living room, dropping heavily onto the couch and scrubbing his eyes.

“He’s sleeping,” Mac mumbles through his hands, answering their unspoken question.

“Good,” Riley nods, her smile is wet and weak. Desi, sitting on the armrest of her chair, pulls her closer.

“I’ve never seen him…heard him... like that…” Bozer swallows hard. 

“This was… this was a bad one,” Mac agrees, dragging his hands down his face, and exchanging a glance with Desi. It’s not the worst thing either of them has seen Jack survive. Not by a long shot. 

“He’ll be okay,” Desi states, her fingers tangling, finding comfort in Riley’s hair. 

Mac nods, echoing Desi’s words with more confidence than he feels, trying to drown out Jack’s screams reverberating in his head. "He'll be okay."  


“I cancelled the bounce house,” Bozer says, filling the silence. “Rescheduled actually. They were very understanding, said they wished little Jack a speedy recovery and can’t wait to help him celebrate his birthday.”

Mac snorts, laughter bubbling from his chest, through the unshed tears. 

“They never asked for an age, but I guess most forty-six year olds don’t rent a bouncy castle for their birthdays.”

“That’s Jack,” Riley’s soft laughter joins in. 

“Every day is precious,” Desi repeats Jack’s life motto, smiling down at Riley. 

“After last year, I… I just wanted this one to be special.”

Mac had found Jack staring at the calendar on the wall as the next month crept closer, cup of coffee growing cold in his hand. He turned, realizing Mac was at his side. “House money, hoss.” 

“Didn’t think we’d get to celebrate with him again and…”

“We’ll still celebrate,” Riley interrupts Mac’s maudlin thoughts. “Couple of weeks and he’ll be making up for lost monologue time.” She rolls her eyes as though she’s annoyed but her voice cracks in the middle. Clearing her throat she continues. “I sent out a text blast and let everyone know the change of plans and to mark their calendar for about six weeks from now.”

“Six weeks,” Mac shakes his head. 

Bozer shuffles the papers in his hands. “I’ve been reading through the discharge instructions. Not gonna lie, I’m kind of freaked out by the whole thing.”

“Yeah. I tried holding my jaw shut, after you told us what they were going to do. I almost lost my mind after twenty minutes,” Riley says, massaging the hinge of her jaw. 

“That’s why I think he should stay here. I’m a little worried he’s going to get frustrated and claustrophobic and snip the wires,” Mac rubs his forehead, a headache blooming. 

“We’re family. We’re in this together. Even if that includes wrestling wire cutters out of Jack’s hands,” Riley promises. 

"If he tries to do something stupid, I can put him down," Desi agrees. Emotionally, she might be the only one of them who could.

Mac lays his head against the back of the couch, feeling overwhelmed, eyes prickling again. 

“I am worried about feeding him,” Bozer says, eyes staring off into the middle distance. “I haven’t even had a chance to make all his favorite since he’s been back.”

“How is he supposed to eat?” Riley’s voice raises with concern. “Just soup for weeks?”

“There’s not enough soup in the world,” Desi shakes her head. “Not for six weeks.”

“Not enough protein,” Mac mutters.

“They’ve got a lot of recommendations here for pureeing food until it’s thin enough to kind of…” Bozer makes a slurping noise, “through his teeth and the wires.”

Riley makes a face. “That will be enough?”

“They also recommend adding powdered milk to shakes and smoothies for extra protein,” Bozer adds, his mind clearly racing as he modifies recipes.

“It’s not going to be easy. He’s going to need more protein and calories for bone healing and it's going to frustrate him that he can’t just eat,” Mac worries.

“We’ll figure it out,” Riley promises, determination shining. “He’s got us. We’re a pretty creative bunch.”

“There’s a real risk for malnutrition. The doctor said he’ll need to weigh himself a couple times a week to make sure he’s not losing weight,” Mac rubs his eyes. 

“Oh, he’s going to love you mother-henning him like that,” Desi shakes her head. 

“Probably about as much as he’s gonna love slurping his food,” Bozer says, looking down at the instruction again.

“Actually, until the novelty wears off, which I predict will take about…” Mac cants his head, debating his mental-Jack math, “three days, he might actually enjoy the slurp.” 

“Yeah, he will, won't he?” Desi smirks. 

“Lasagna through a straw,” Bozer chuckles, and the mood lightens.

“So, we all eat the same thing,” Riley says. “We eat what he eats, when he eats. If we’re hungry then we’ll know he is too, and call him on his bullshit.” 

“He’ll be too busy worrying about us to be stubborn,” Bozer agrees. 

Mac chuckles, looking between his friends, wondering how he ever got so lucky to be able to call them family.

* * *

“Hey, Happy Birthday, big guy,” Mac says looking up as Jack stumbles into the kitchen the next morning, one foot bare and his sleep pants hiked up around his knees. A banner proclaiming the same is stretched across the ceiling, with multicolor streamers.

Bleary, sleepy-eyed Jack surveys the room, scrubbing dark hair off his pillow creased face, frowning hard, trying to wake himself up. He gives a small wave. 

“Do you need something for pain?” Mac asks, coming to stand next to his partner, placing a hand on his shoulder.  Riley hangs back, letting Jack find his equilibrium, helping Bozer strain Jack’s breakfast.

With a sigh, Jack nods. Frowning hard, he pulls out the bottle and syringe from his sleep pants pocket and passes it to Mac who quickly draws up a dose. 

Throughout the night, Jack woke several times, pain and nightmares chasing him from sleep. Reaching through the dark for Mac, who was there in an instant with reassurance and pain medication. Accepting the comfort readily and the pain medication more reluctantly, before pulling Mac closer, and surrendering to slumber again.

“Alright, open,” Mac instructs, more confident now with additional experience in administering the liquid. 

Jack swallows and breathes a sigh of relief, slumping into one of the barstools at the counter, tugging at the stretched-out t-shirt hanging low on his chest. He waves over an anxious-looking Riley.

“Hey, honey,” he mumbles through his teeth. 

Riley moves slowly, watching him with concern, until he pulls her into an embrace. She ruffles his hair and plants a kiss on his forehead. “Happy birthday, Jack.”

He beams up at her, taking her hand in his, staring up into her worried eyes. “I am o… o.. kay,” he enunciates, while forming his thumb and forefinger into a circle, the other three fingers held up straight. He cocks his head, frowning. Listening to his own words then smiles. 

“That’s a nice suit, Mr. Takagi.” Jack’s flinches with the effort to speak, hands coming to cradle his aching jaw. 

A worried crease forms between Riley’s eyebrows as she glances from Jack to Mac. “What?”

Mac shakes his head. “Just another American who saw too many movies as a child.” 

Jack pats his shoulder in approval. 

“But seriously, don’t hurt yourself trying to be Hans Gruber just because you maybe sound like a terrible, Texan impression of him,” the smile on Mac’s face stops just short of his eyes. The thought of Die Hard, while reverting back to good memories now that Jack is home, sends a stab of pain through his heart.

“And maybe give your jaw a break, at least until the pain meds kick.”

Jack’s lips part as though to protest.

“Okay,” Bozer interrupts, setting a large glass on the counter in front of Jack. “I know it’s not your usual blueberry pancake birthday breakfast. But I think we’ve figured out how to make the next best thing. Blueberry birthday smoothies. It might even be a new tradition?”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Not the reason but the breakfast,” Bozer hastens to add, handing Riley her own glass. 

Jack smiles, canting his head as the kids join him around the counter. He taps his glass and points at theirs.

“Wouldn’t really be fair if we were sitting here eating pancakes in front of you,” Bozer explains. “Especially not on your birthday.” 

Jack’s eyes soften and he raises his glass. 

“Guess it’s on me to make a toast, huh?” Mac asks and sighs when Jack nods at him, wiggling his eyebrows and looking expectant. 

Mac’s eyes dart around the room, to the faces of his friends and then at possible escape routes before he begins. 

“Well, you've always been more of the birthday celebrator than I have. And you never give up trying to get me to go along with one of your crazy birthday ideas. You've also never given up on telling me that birthdays are important. That you’ve gotta commemorate them because life is precious. And I’ve never disputed that part of it. That’s why we go out and risk our lives. But picking one arbitrary day to celebrate… I’ve got a few issues with that.” Mac gives a self-conscious smirk. “And it’s too much to unpack right now. But this past year, I think I realized what you were trying to tell me all along. It’s not about the day. It’s a checkpoint. A place to pause, at least once a year, and make sure you’re telling the people in your life you love them. Before you-” Mac’s voice hitches. “Before you can’t.”

“I still don’t know if I’m completely sold on birthdays,” Mac smiles, but his eyes are turning red. “But picturing the rest of my life without you trying to convince me. Dragging me to hedgehog races. And taking a quiet moment to make sure I knew how much you… how much you... love…”

Jack blinks hard, standing from his seat and setting down his glass. Moving around the corner of the counter, he doesn’t hesitate. Eyes sparkle with unshed tears he reaches for Mac, drawing him close as though magnetized. 

His hand sinks deep into thick tresses, caressing the back of Mac’s head, the gentle motion gathering him closer. With a shudder, Mac collapses into Jack, melting into his strength. 

Nestling Mac to his chest, Jack cards his fingers through long strands, murmuring into Mac’s ear. Thick, shuffling words, but Mac knows the tone and cadence. “I’ve got you, hoss.” 

Mac clutches the back of Jack’s shirt in two fists, feels the soft cotton growing damp under his face.

After a moment, Jack lifts his head and his arms loosen.  Mac moves to let go. To wipe his eyes and pull away. Instead, Jack pushes his head gently back down before tugging Riley and Bozer into his arm. Crushing all three of them against his chest. A healing balm on the pieces of their hearts that are still raw and jagged from a loss so astounding even a miracle hasn’t yet fully restored them. 

Tears slow. Arms hug tighter, then loosen. Demanding stomachs gurgle with hunger. Slowly, reluctantly, cramping fingers disengage their grip. Jack brushes away tears, gently cupping the faces of each of his Jacklings as he releases them. 

Bozer hugs him again. Riley smiles softly, studying his face. And Mac swallows hard, gripping his shoulder. 

Scrubbing faces and wiping noses, they turn back to the counter and their breakfast. 

Jack lifts his glass, tapping it against the others. He brings it to eye level, quirking his lips, studying it, and taking a tentative sip. 

Bozer was right. A few missteps and a couple of napkins later, Jack does seem to enjoy slurping his breakfast through his teeth. 

One meal down, too many more to go. If they follow the recommended meal plans, two hundred, fifty-one more meals to go, Mac’s brain does the math with barely a thought and definitely without permission. But they'll get through this new challenge as they've gotten through everything else. Together.  


Jack smiles at him, then flips open his notebook, scribbling quickly, he shoves it at Mac. Waving it in front of his face.

“Wait, stop, I can’t” Mac leans back, catching Jack’s wrist and stilling the flopping pages. 

_ Where is my cake? _

The three exchange glances. 

“Okay, first of all, it’s like seven-thirty in the morning-”

Jack shrugs, waves his hand as if brushing aside Mac’s words and taps the notebook.

“Second, we thought,” Mac looks at Riley and Bozer again for support “We’d postpone the cake until you can eat it.”

Jack pouts, pointing at the banner in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know, but…”

A more emphatic point.

“I know, today is your birthday. We’re celebrating today and then we’ll celebrate again when you can eat your cake.” 

Jack's pout deepens. 

“You get to celebrate twice, isn’t that like a dream come true?” Mac shakes his head, feeling a little bit like he’s reasoning with a toddler and not his partner. His partner who seems to be very much enjoying this game of charades. 

Pausing, Jack considers Mac’s words and gives a small nod as though in agreement. Then taps the notebook again with a playful smile. 

“We could get birthday cake flavored ice cream?” Riley suggests. “That should be okay, right? Let it melt a little and then you’ll be able to eat it like the smoothie.”

Jack’s lips curl in disappointment, wobbling his hand. 

“Cake,” he groans through his clenched teeth. He taps Mac’s shoulder, pointing decisively at him, then gesturing to the blender on the counter. Bringing up his closed fists, he taps them together, then bursts his fingers wide, miming an explosion before pointing to Mac again. Pursing his lips, he blows a long puff of air at the space in front of him, moving his head from side to side. 

One more gesture towards the blender before pantomiming taking a sip from a glass. 

He looks expectantly at Mac who stares at him with an eyebrow quirked, before sighing and starting his charades from the top. 

“If I can make a blender that explodes, I can make one that liquifies a cake?” 

Jack taps his nose. 

“You should have made him mime that a few more times,” Riley teases.

Mac scrubs a hand through his hair. “I- Bozer, you up for making a cake?”

“Hey, if you can really liquify a cake, dude, and Jack actually drinks it, I’ll make one every day.”

Jack grins. 

**Author's Note:**

> Project7723 calls the spysibling "Jacklings" and it's about the cutest thing I've ever seen  
> The Dallas Stars are a hockey team and I know that from my friend altschmerzes
> 
> The quotes “That’s a nice suit, Mr. Takagi.” and “Just another American who saw too many movies as a child.” are from Die Hard. As I held my jaw shut and tried to figure out how Jack might sound while speaking, I thought I sounded like a bad impression of Alan Rickman. And Jack, being Jack would probably hear that too.


End file.
